The great windows were set with crystal panes so clear they seemed air frozen in an instant, and the snow fields outside reflected the afternoon sunlight on the peaks above, bathing the great hall in rose and golden hues. Those people moving across the vast floor threw long shadows, as jeweled, faceted globes threw soft white light across the hall, the source of that light having nothing to do with nature.
The approaching man glided through the air, standing regally as if being carried by a company of invisible bearers upon a heavy platform. He touched foot to the stone floor of the hail as Miranda gently touched down on the marble floor.
Several others nearby turned to observe the confrontation, though they remained silent. Miranda threw back her cloak’s hood, shaking her dark hair as she glanced around the hall.
“Who comes to the Celestial City?”
With amusement she answered, “A fine lot of gods you are if you don’t know who comes to your own palace to visit. I am called Miranda.”
The Warden said, “None may invade the precinct of the gods without invitation.”
Miranda grinned. “Odd. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“None may invade without permission and live to leave,” said the Warden.
“Well, consider me an uninvited guest, not an invader.”
“What cause brings you to the Hall of the Gods?”
Miranda inspected the figure before her. Like the others who inhabited the hall, he wore an odd robe, tight-fitting across the shoulders, but billowing out below the arms, forming a perfect circle at the hem almost six feet in diameter. Miranda guessed there was a thin band of metal or heavy cord sewn into the hem. The sleeves were long, and also flared along the length, while the collar was stiff and high, surrounding the back of the head up to the ears, giving Miranda the impression that she spoke to a six-foot-tall doll fashioned from interlocking cones of paper, with a painted clay head stuck on the top. What a peculiar-looking character, she thought.
His face had olive-shaded skin darkened by years of exposure to bright sun, and his beard was as white as the snow outside. Eyes of pale blue regarded her from under white brows.
She glanced around the hall, wishing she had more time to study the place. Its grandeur was nothing less than breath-taking, yet somehow it was alien and as cold as the wind outside the great door. No mortal lacking great magic would find his way to this abode of the gods, for the clime was impossible. At least a hundred feet below the base of the plateau the air became too thin to breathe long and remain alive, and the temperature was constantly below freezing.
Most of the people were turned her way, and she noticed that each group seemed set off, isolated by the sense of separate areas she had detected upon entering, as if there was a zone on the floor they were confined to. After a moment, she was certain no one was leaving a given area to enter another.
“You limit the gods?” asked Miranda.
“They limit themselves, as they always have,” came the answer. “Again I must ask, what cause brings you here?”
“I come because there are terrible forces gathering, and this world stands in jeopardy. I have visited with the Oracle of Aal, and she is ready to enter her breeding phase. Her vision will be lost to us. Those forces that march are committed to a course of action that will bring about the end of all we know, including this.” She waved her hand, indicating the hall.
The Warden closed his eyes a moment, and Miranda knew something was being communicated; then he said, “Speak more.”
“Of what?”
“Of what you hope to find here.”
“I had hoped for some sense that the gods of Midkemia were ready to answer the threat to their very existence!” Her anger was poorly hidden, and contempt edged her words.
“These are but the aspects of the gods,” answered the Warden, “those men and women who have, for reasons beyond our mortal understanding, been chosen to exist on the gods’ behalf. They have come to live out their lives as mortal aspects of the gods, eyes and ears granting the gods mortal perspective on the world in which they abide.”
Miranda nodded. “Then I would speak to one of these godly aspects, if you don’t mind.”
“I have nothing to say in the matter,” came the answer. “I am but the Warden of the Celestial City. It is my task to keep those who abide here comfortable.” He closed his eyes. “You may speak to whoever will answer.”
Walking past the Warden, Miranda approached the area nearest the entrance, where a group of men and women stood surrounding one who loomed over them by a full head. All wore white, without a hint of color, and the woman at the center of the group had hair without hue. Her skin was also without pigmentation, but rather than possessing the look of an albino, she appeared to be of some alien race, with skin truly white in color. Those who surrounded her stepped aside, allowing Miranda to approach. At a respectful distance, Miranda bowed her head, then she said, “Sung, I plead for help.”